Take to the Sky
by Professor Owlfeather
Summary: All Arthur Kirkland wanted was to be a normal member of society, to the point of physically altering himself. His life is turned upside down by the very thing he cut off, forcing his family out of hiding, and on a hunt for his son. Wingtalia AU, Rusame, Fruk
1. Run Away

**A/N:** this came to me out of no where... I'm nearly done with the next chapter of HH, I just need to proof read it and assure myself that it's complete. I'm not even sure if this chapter is complete

* * *

A young Arthur Kirkland cried, clutching the bloodied rope saw in one hand, tears falling freely from his face. He wanted this- he wanted to be normal. He didn't want to wear a trench coat in the middle of the summer and watch as passer-by noticed the strange way he walked, hunched over and with a strange hump protruding from his back. Arthur took the saw and looped the steel linround his back, catching the arm of his right wing- he felt the left wing, detached and on the floor flap. He stared at it, tears falling. He had already cut off one- now he had to finish the job.

He choked, dropping the saw, letting hang loosely around his wing. _"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."_

"Arthur?! Arthur where are ya boy!? Arthur?!" His big brother, Scott- oh no, Scott would be so mad- no no-

Arthur cried, looking at his one winged reflection in the mirror. He fell to his knees, sobbing and hugging himself.

"Arthur?!"

He heard a pounding on the door, and Arthur grabbed the two ends of the saw, frantically moving it back and forth, crying out and continuing to saw. "Arthur?! Arthur let me in!"

"No!"

There was a pounding at the door, then a huge bang as Scott threw himself against the door. "Let me in!" Arthur continued cutting, frantic as Scott broke down the door. The two stared at eachother, and Scott's wings raised, agitated, but then deflated and fell. "Oh, Arthur..." He bent down, picking the boy up.

"I'm sorry Scott- I'm sorry-" Scott rubbed where his left wing used to be, his hand coating in blood.

He set Arthur down on the toilet, pulling out the first aid kit. "Arthur, why did you do this?" He said, turning him around and pouring the alcohol over his back. Arthur screamed, clutching the sides of the toilet. "Arthur, I don't know if we can reattach your wing..."

"I don't want it!"

Scott stopped, staring at him. " _What_?"

"I said I don't want them!"

Scott was awestruck, bandaging him and wrapping it in gauze. "Arthur. . . Why?"

"I- I want to be normal- I want to be like everyone else- I want to walk down the street without being stared at. . . I want to grow up and live a normal life- I don't want to hide myself, Scott." Scott shook his head, staring at Arthur. "I don't understand, Arthur-"

Arthur turned, slapping Scott with his remaining wing. "Please. . . Let me do this. . ."

"Arthur- I can't let you."

"Why?!" Arthur turned back to him, slapping him with his wing again, and meeting his gaze.

Scott stared at him, the pleading look in his eyes, and the pained expression. "No."

"WHY?"

"Because I said so!"

Arthur pushed him, going for the saw, and wrapping it around his remaining wing, barreling out of the bathroom, running through the house, sawing his wing as he went. He turned random corners, trying to lose Scott, who chased after him. Arthur ran through the kitchen, going past his other brothers, Scott yelling to chase him down. Blood trailed Arthur as he sawed off his wing, only halfway through. He ducted into a closet, hurrying the saw, praying they wouldn't find him. He hurried, hearing footsteps approaching, and then felt weight fall off his back. Arthur exhaled, resting on his knees, not even daring to stare at his wing. The door opened and light flooded in, Arthur turned as William picked him up, horrified. "I got him!"

The Kirkland brothers did what they could to reattach Arthur's wings, but after enough fighting and failed attempts, the gave up, stitching Arthur's skin up, and bandaging him.

And Arthur was never stared at again. His brothers went their separate ways, and he lived a normal life.

 **-x-x-x-**

 **Years Later**

Arthur was a adult now. He had a good paying job, a nice one room house to himself, nice neighbors. A normal, human life. It was everything he could've wanted- happy with himself. Normal. No wings, no mutations, nothing. Normal, simple, life.

One night, Arthur heard something rummaging inside his home, and promptly grabbing his sword that hung up on the wall, he quietly went downstairs, the sword pointed in front of him. And what he found- was a child. A young toddler at that.

The child's name was Alfred, and was looting homes in the area for food. Why this child wasn't in an orphanage became clear very quickly.

Alfred had wings. Arthur wanted nothing to do with him, but ended up taking in the child anyway. Where else could he go? He would die out there on his own.

Arthur told him he was never allowed to fly in the house, or out in public. He couldn't tell anyone about it either. Arthur made him act civilized- take regular showers- he got Alfred to go to school, strapping his wings together. Alfred always asked him, "Why can't I fly?"

 _"Because, Alfred, if you flew, and people saw you, people would flock our house and go after you. And then the government would take you away."_

 _"Arthur?"_

 _"Yes, lad?"_

 _"How do you know so much about me?"_

 _"I'll tell you when you're older, lad."_ Alfred huffed, slouching. " _Why?"_

 _"Too young for you to know about."_

 **-x-x-x-**

A few years later, when Alfred got into first grade, Arthur met a Frenchmen at parent-teacher conferences, and after _accidentally_ bumping into eachother many times, Francis took them all out for dinner, and Arthur fell head over heels in love (and hatred) for him. Francis happily returned his feelings.

Francis had a son, Matthew, which he didn't mind, as Matthew and Alfred got along well.

After a date one night, the two stood outside of Arthur's home, Francis seemed to be uneasy- not sure about leaving. "So, Arthur-" Francis took his hand, staring at him, very concerned. "I- need to tell you about something- it's only because I want to start off with a clean slate- and well-" Arthur rolled his eyes, "Just say it."

"Well Arthur, me and my son- we have what normal people- people like you- would call a deformity..."

Arthur looked concerned now, staring at him. "Francis, what is it?" Francis takes in a breath, taking off his coating letting drop to the ground. Arthur stared at him, confused. "Promise you won't freak out?"

Arthur nods.

Francis inhales, and from his back, beautiful, long wings stretch out and extend from his back. They were a glorious, shining white, around fifteen feet long, stretched out.

"What the bloody-" Arthur backed away, shocked. How the hell could he not notice? _How?_

"Arthur- please don't freak out-"

"Get away from me!"

Francis stopped, his mouth hung open. "Arthur-"

"No-!" Arthur ran for the safety of his home, but found himself being scooped up into the air. "Put me down you frog! Let go!" Francis only clung to him tighter, no matter how much he struggled. "Arthur please understand!"

"I understand perfectly!" Arthur turned to face him. "Put me down- right now. _And then get out of my life."_

Francis stares at him, hurt. The Frenchman holds in tears, clinging to Arthur tighter. "Please..."

"Francis-"

Tighter. "Please."

"Francis, I want nothing to do with people like you."

"Why?"

"Because I used to be like you." Francis lands, staring at Arthur, his wings folding tightly against him and conforming to his back.

"What happened to your wings. . .?" Arthur drags him inside.

Arthur sat Francis down on the bed, sighing. "Francis, I cut off my wings."

" _You?_ " The Frenchmen was bewildered.

Arthur told him, recalling the events in the bathroom, and his brothers chasing him down,

"So, they tried to reattach them, and weren't able to..."

"What did they look like?"

"They were a golden yellow, like sunlight." Arthur said, yawning.

"Why did you want them off? Your family was okay with them..."

Arthur sighed. "Because, Francis, I wanted to live a normal life- normal house, normal family, normal life. That's what I wanted. Wings weren't normal. I'm a bloody human being, not a bird." Francis fell silent, staring at him.

"Well?"

"Arthur, do you hate me?"

Arthur was quiet- no, he didn't hate Francis. He loved Francis- would he admit it? No. That was like showing weakness to the damned frog. "Francis. I do not hate you. I don't think I could if I tried. It's just- if you want to live with me, then I expect you and Matthew to follow the same rules I have for Alfred."

Francis nodded, biting his lip. "Well, they do need to learn to fly-"

"When we are away from the cities." Arthur finished for him, staring.

 **-x-x-x-**

So, when the boys were off of school, the family packed up, and visited Arthur's family, all the Kirkland brothers gathering at Scott's home in Scotland, as it was out in the country and the nearest neighbor was several kilometers away. Arthur stayed inside mostly, only witnessing the first few minutes of the boys attempting to fly. He didn't want to watch, as it would bring back bad memories and some minuscule part of him would long to fly with them, and his back would itch and make him want to scratch his skin raw.

Outside, Francis and the rest of the Kirkland's were struggling with the kids.

"I don't understand-" Alfred said stretching out his wings. "These feel so alien..."

Scott tilted his head, glancing at his brothers. "Alfred, how often are ye able to use your wings at home?"

Alfred placed his hand on his chin, thinking. "Rarely. Arthur doesn't like it- he doesn't want us to crash into things inside the house- and we live in a big city so we would be at risk if we flew. At least, that's what he said."

"When did you last stretch them out?"

"Normally when I'm in the shower..."

William facepalmed, then glanced at the house, seeing Arthur in the window. Scott sighed, extending his wings to their full length. "Ya see, there's a difference between us and birds. We don't just wave our arms around and take into the sky. No- our wings are an extension of ourselves, and of our hearts. And losing your wings, it's like losing a piece of your soul. And then, you'll always feel it. You'll feel the weight and pain that _isn't there."_ Matthew glanced in Arthur's direction. _Is that what daily life is like for Arthur?_ He wondered.

"You need to feel it," William started, approaching the boys, brown wings with white markings on the ends folded behind him.

"Feel what?" Matthew asked.

"Feel you. Your wings. Feel your breath as you extend your wings-" He extended them, a full 14 feet, or as Francis said, "Four and half meters or so."

"Feel it- extend your wings!"

Matthew tried to flap his wings, moving his back, his arms, Alfred trying to roll his shoulders and move them.

The adults sighed consecutively.

Francis spoke now, "Boys- it's not physical. You don't think about it or the science of it- you just..." Francis sighed. "You just do it."

"But _how_?"

The two Kirklands looked at Francis, gesturing to the kids. "Francis, do they even know how to use their wings?" Francis shrugs, and then sighs.

"Arthur rarely lets them have their wings out at home..." The two sighed.

Scott bent down- "You know, let's try something."

Francis looked at Scott curiously, who nodded at William. The two Kirklands picked up the boys by their waists, and flew high into the sky. "OH MY GOD! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Alfred screamed, clutching Scott.

Francis took into the air, and Arthur ran outside, screaming.

"HANDS ON LEARNING!"

"YOU'RE INSANE!" Matthew screamed, nearly slipping out of William's grip.

The two let go of the boys, starting to fall and try and catch the air. Matthew twirled and his wings started flapping frantically, eventually turning and he caught air, his body lurching back from the resistance.

Alfred panicked, his arms waving and his wings unmoving. Scott dived down after him. "You have to feel it Alfred! _Fly! **FLY!** "_

Alfred closed his eyes, bracing for impact, hugging his chest. He wanted to- he wanted to feel it- he could envision it, his wings extending and flying flawlessly. But he couldn't do it- he couldn't fly. Alfred felt himself lurch back- and opened his eyes, the ground falling away from him. He- he was flying. He sucked in a breath.

"You got it Alfred!" Scott screamed, diving and flying back up to him.

Alfred panicked and flapped his wings irregularly, starting to fall again. Francis caught him and William helped Matthew down. All of them landed, and Alfred hugged the ground.

"So, how did that feel?" Scott said, approaching the boys. Alfred got up, glaring at him, and promptly punched him in the chest. "You- fucking-" Alfred looked at his brother, concerned slightly, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Oh my god-" The two started laughing hysterically.

"YOU DROPPED THEM?!" Arthur screamed, stomping up to them now. "YOU BLOODY CUNTS!"

Scott gasped, and then started laughing. "I don't see the problem, Artie-" Arthur punched his big brother square across his jaw, sending him to the ground.

William approached, "Woah Arthur- calm down-"

"I WILL NOT CALM DOWN. YOU ALMOST KILLED MY SONS."

Scott got up, tackling Arthur, and taking him up into the air. "Come on William!" The other Kirkland sprung into the air, Francis following after them.

"Don't you dare!" Arthur screamed at Scott, hitting him. "Okay, I won't."

And Scott let Arthur go.

Alfred watched Arthur fall, envisioning a pair of wings on Arthur's back. He had the form for trying to correct himself in the air.

"ARTHUR!" Francis yelled, diving after the blond, and William grabbing Arthur and lifting him into the air, then dropping him again. Alfred growled, struggling to take air, Matthew falling in suit as the Kirklands played monkey in the middle with Francis.

Alfred eventually got into the air, dragging Matthew up too, and went after Arthur.

"Hey!" William yelled, Matthew knocking against him and pushing him in the air, trying to distract him. Francis and Alfred dived after Arthur, their wings closing against them, Alfred grabbing Arthur by his torso, Francis supporting the weight, and getting Arthur back on the ground. Francis went back inside with Arthur before he killed his brothers, and Alfred patting on his brother's back, their wings folding. "Wow..."

Scott walked over to them. "So, flying class starts tomorrow after breakfast."

They looked at Scott, partially terrified, and ran back inside.

 **-x-x-x-**

 **Months After**

Arthur had plotted to remove Alfred's wings, and Matthew's. He had wanted to do it before they learned to fly, or even developed flight feathers. He knew the boys couldn't be normal or grow up in society with those things. He didn't want something bad to happen to them because they had wings. He wanted the boys to grow up into normal life.

Alfred fought him tooth and nail, nearly breaking his wrist in the process.

The boys were rescued by Francis, who was just returning home from work.

Arthur desperately tried to explain himself, terrified of what the other would do to him. He fought Francis on a daily basis, but the predatory, cold stare he gave scared him, as if Francis was ready to rip his throat out.

Francis wasn't going to have it though, and when he found out Arthur, Francis picked him up and locked him out of the house for the night, bandaging Alfred's now deformed wing.

And the boys were moved to live with a friend of Francis' in Spain, until Francis allowed him to be near the boys again and adjust to his family.

 **-x-x-x-**

After the two turned 19, Arthur and Francis went to Spain to take them home, but Matthew was the only one of the two to return, as Alfred had left to travel abroad. Antonino didn't chase after him, and this confused Francis- the boy was only 19.

Antonino went over the boys later years with the parents. "Well, Alfred got a pilot's license, and both of them learned to drive, they were flawless in school."

"Why did Alfred leave?"

"He heard that I was considering getting them back home, and he packed up his things and left without a word, jumping out the window of his room."

"Why?" Arthur asked, leaning in.

"Well Arthur, both of the boys are afraid of you."

Arthur straightened up, shocked. "What?"

"Because Alfred's afraid of you going for his wings again, and Matthew is afraid he's next."

Arthur put his head in his hands, Francis patting his back.

"When did he leave?"

"About a week ago."

 **-x-x-x-**

Alfred had grown to love flying- stereotypical, yes, but he loved it. He had not flown all his life, learning how to only a few years ago. Alfred had even gotten a pilot's license so he could fly and live what Arthur referred to as a "normal life." Alfred scoffed, flapping his wings. He didn't understand. He had wings. His family had wings- so why did Arthur think it was so bad to have them? Is there something wrong with him? Alfred shook his head. And why didn't Arthur have wings? Francis said that Arthur had been in an accident...

He flapped his wings again, deciding to focus on flying.

Flying. He couldn't think of any truer form of freedom. The sky was endless- and when you could travel for great distances, it was wonderful. He reached out, running his fingers through the clouds, smiling lightly. He wasn't sure where he was right now- the air was cold and the clouds were thick. Somewhere in Europe maybe? Eh, he'd worry about it later. He started to fly lower, seeing a vast forest below. Okay, he was lost. That's okay. He flew down lower now, looking for a clearing, a place to land, something.

Alfred secured his backpack against his chest, quiet, finding a clearing and landing.

Okay, first- where was he?

His wings folded tightly against him, and he took off his bag, bending down and going through it, finding his maps and his phone. He looked around, trying to get any indication of where he was. No signal on his phone. Map wasn't going to help, he wasn't even sure which country he was in. He could be in Canada for all he knew. He folded the map back up and put it back in his backpack. He sighed, rubbing his arms, shivering, and rummaging through his bag again. Surely he had a coat or a blanket somewhere in here- **_BANG_**

He straightened up, whipping his head about, looking for the source. His wings started to unfurl, he zipped up his bag and put it on his chest. Another shot, his wings fully extending and sweeping up. Something tackled him, bringing him down to the ground. He thrashed, barking and snarls filling his ears, something clamping onto his arm, pulling on him, another biting and trying to pull off his wing. A man approached, a rifle pointed at him and a rope tied to his waist. He spoke in a language unknown to Alfred, seeming to laugh and mock him, then stop, seemingly disappointed.

 _Shit- shit shit shit!_ He pulled on the jaw of the massive dog attached to his arm, and pulled off the dog, kicking him and flinging off the other dog. As Alfred got up, the man shot him again, his wing shielding his face and barreling into the man and flapping his wings frantically, clawing up a tree and trying to take off- the sky was safety. Nothing could touch you once you got high enough. He manages to get into the air, another shot ringing out and hitting his wing again. His stroke uneven and irregular. Alfred gritted his teeth, bleeding from both wings.

 _"Alfred, let me take them off-"_

 _"No!"_

Maybe Arthur was right- maybe he should have let Arthur cut off his wings- he panted heavily, trying to gain altitude and distance. He could hear barking and the sound of a engine below- he had to get away. He couldn't stop- he had to fly- he'd die if he stopped. He had to- he flapped and flapped, his wings bleeding, cradling his arm. He didn't care about his arm- his wings were injured. This wasn't the first time, but rarely had they been injured this shots rang out, and he felt one hit his wing, and the other hit his thigh.

He started to fall, flapping his wings- _No- no- no- **NO NONONO-**_

He crashed, branches scratching him and skidding against the ground. He coughed, blood spitting out, and then tried to get up. He had to go- he had to move- _right now-_ Alfred's uninjured arm shook as he tried to lift himself up, and then he collapsed, the sounds of barking and a vehicle of some kind approaching.

A shadow cast over him as the dogs found him, tackling him and biting into his wings again, pulling on them, pulling out feathers- vital flight feathers. Alfred took his good arm and made his wing throw the dog, and struggled to get up, pulling on the other dog and trying to free himself.

The man bursted into the clearing, the shadow disappearing, stopping his vehicle and pointing the rifle at Alfred. He fired, aiming for where his wings connected to his back, but ended up hitting his shoulder. Alfred cried out, another shot finding its way to his knee and a dog latching onto his leg. He felt something wrap around his wings and he fell to the ground.

Alfred screamed.

He thrashed and kicked, fighting and trying to get the man off his back. He tied his wings together, Alfred screeching. This couldn't be happening- it couldn't.

It couldn't be- why was this happening? Why? Why _him_? Alfred cried now, the restraint tightening.

This was it.

The end.

And suddenly, the man was knocked off his back. The dogs were thrown off, and Alfred could see a huge silhouette, it picked him and his bag up, the largest wings he had ever seen extending-

And then, nothing.

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 **A/N:** so, I'd like to know what you guys think- I kinda have ideas for a chapter two, please be kind, this is my first AU like this, and first fic centering around a ship of some sort.


	2. Meeting

A/N: I want to state that I own not a single character nor Hetalia.

And, I will try to do Accents and please bare with me. I forget accents bc they take or more times or I can't get them right. When I publish something it tends to be proofread and everything on my own. I am _still_ looking for a beta, and no ones answered me back. If you, reader, can beta and are interested in helping me out, please pm me.

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Alfred's eyes blink open, hissing from the throbbing pain of his wounds. Noticing he laid on a bed, inside a wooden cabin, a blanket over him. He looked forward, a gun coincidentally set on the nightstand next to the bed. Alfred grabbed it, sitting up.

He observes his surroundings, seeing a hulking figure sitting on a mound of pillows, staring at a fire. The figure's back faced away Alfred, seemingly unaware of his movements. The blond turns off the safety, pointing the gun at the figure. He tried to make his arm stop shaking, lest his aim would go off.

"T- Tell me where the hell I am, a- and who the fuck are you or I will blow your head off."

The atmosphere suddenly got heavy and the hair on the nape of his neck stood, his feathers ruffling.

The figure chuckled, smiling. He started speaking in a strange language, then cleared his throat, paused, seeming to think on the words. "But. . ." Pause. "If you did that, then you vould not have answer to questions. Added onto dat, dogs are alert to sound of gunshots. I'm sure you do not want more bite marks, da?"

Alfred's arm still shook, and he growled. "Don't fuck with me man." He said, trying to hold the gun steady with his other hand, but unable to support himself, he fell back onto the bed. He cried out, his wings under him, and scrambled off the bed, falling onto the hardwood floor, onto his side.

Alfred groaned, reaching out for the gun again as the figure stood up.

"I have no plans to." The figure said, Alfred pointing the gun at him again. It approached, a large shadow overcasting Alfred raises the gun again. "Back- back away from me!" He pulls the trigger, the gun merely clicking.

Alfred groaned, dropping the gun and letting his arm fall to the floor. He ouldn't catch a break, could he?

"It is empty, don't you see?"

 _Who the fuck is this guy?!_

"You are scared. . . Like cornered animal. . . I don't see vhy." The figure laughed. The fire cackled, and Alfred struggled to get up, only managing to sit up, using his one good arm. He tried to flap his wings- maybe he could get away, find Antonio- why aren't my wings moving?!

Alfred gasped, looking over his shoulder, both of his wings folded together and wrapped in a gauze. "What did you do to me?!" Alfred screamed, scrambling away from the figure, using the bed to try and get back on his feet.

The figured sighed, grabbing Alfred by his good arm. "Let go of me!" Forced onto his back, he heard a chair being dragged across the floor.

"My, my, you are frightened. . ."

"I am not!"

It sighed, the fire crackling, and the room brightening. "Scared and weak, broken and mangled... Like misfit toy."

Alfred propped himself up on his elbow, staring at him. He could make out the outline of a face, a scarf. His gaze travelled up, met with striking violet eyes. They horrified Alfred, tears perking his vision, violet _violent_ eyes seeming to look into him and right through him.

"If you vill calm down, I shall introduce myself..."

Alfred laid himself back down, his gaze not leaving the violet eyes.

"I, am Ivan. And you are Alfred, correct?"

 **-x-x-x-**

Arthur felt awful. There was a noticeable build-up of bile in his throat, his back ached, and he felt close to crying. Matthew hadn't spoken a word to him since they reunited. They checked into a hotel near Antonio's home, Matthew asking for his own room, and getting one next to his parents.

Arthur paced in the bathroom, locking the door and wanting to be alone.

His back itched.

Arthur rubbed his back against the wall, trying to scratch it. He grumbled.

It felt wrong.

 _He_ felt wrong.

It itched.

He knew better- he knew it. Arthur ripped off his shirt, an angered yell releasing from him.

"Stay away from them!"

His back hurt.

Arthur clenched his fists.

 _"Francis- wait! Please try to understand!"_

 _"Understand?! Understand what?! Look at your hands! Whose blood is that, Arthur?! WHOSE?!"_

Arthur stared at his reflection, glaring at himself.

There _should_ be a pair of wings behind him. He _should_ be with his family. He _should_ be bonding with sons.

Arthur felt tears blur his vision. He couldn't let himself think that. He was perfectly fine- wings or no wings. He turned, still looking at the mirror. He gazed at the scars on his back, sniffling.

He was Arthur Kirkland, a simple human being.

Admittedly, he still had a few ticks and gears in him that weren't human. They came with the wings- a built in navigation system, strength, endurance...

No.

Arthur Kirkland was human.

"You... You're a bloody wanker. That's what you are. You're not human. And you'll never be human." Arthur growled at the mirror. "You're a wanker."

He pointed at himself in the mirror. "Bloody... Fucking..." He felt tears prick his vision. "Wanker." He sniffed, wiping tears from his eyes. "Your children are afraid of you, your husband can't trust you, your brothers don't like you... And you can't even fly."

Arthur punched the mirror. "Stupid!"

He heard a knock on the door. "Arthur? Are you okay?"

"Leave me be..."

Francis knocks on the door again. "Arthur. Don't do this."

"And why not? Why can't I just scream and cry and be alone? Be the lonely wanker I am!"

"Because Arthur- you're not alone. You're not a wanker either. Arthur... Screaming and crying at yourself... It's simply not healthy."

"And what do you care."

"Unlock the door and I'll tell you."

"No."

Francis sighed. "Alright then." He leaned against the door. "Arthur, it's not healthy because of the way you react to this kind of thing. Locking yourself in the bathroom and screaming never solved anything. If you need to cry then do it, crying is natural. But don't cry alone."

"Why?"

"Because then you won't be able to figure out _how_ to stop crying."

Arthur unlocked the door, Francis straightening up, and opening it. The Frenchman glanced at the crack in the mirror as he felt something thud against him. He looked down, seeing Arthur hugging his waist, head pressed against his chest. He made Arthur sit down on the toilet lid, still hugging him.

"I hate you."

"I know, mon amour. I know." He rubbed Arthur's back, careful not to touch the scars, knowing that would only make Arthur more upset. He let Arthur cry into his chest, cooing softly.

"I'm an awful father."

"No-"

"Yes, I am! It's my fault Alfred's gone. Who knows what's happened? What if he's dead? What if he got hunted down? And it's my fault!"

Francis coos softly, wrapping his wings around them, hugging Arthur back.

"I'm sure Alfred is okay. He can handle himself."

"Francis..."

"Yes?"

"My back hurts."

Francis hugged him tighter. "Arthur, why don't we go lay down. And then I'll check on Matthew, and come back here."

Arthur nodded.

Francis smiled, scooping Arthur up in his arms. "Come on try to cheer up."

"I don't want to." Arthur said, hugging him tightly.

"Oh come on," Francis takes him back into the main room, spinning him around, his wings folding. "You can do it."

He saw a crack of a smile, and sat Arthur on the bed. He pressed his lips against Arthur's, then pulled away.

"Come on, cheer up. I'm sure it will all be okay."

Eventually, Francis got Arthur to settle in, and left him alone, heading next door.

 **-x-x-x-**

Matthew knew something was wrong the moment Alfred jumped out the window. He laid on his stomach, hugging a pillow, atop the bed in his hotel room. His wings splayed out across the mattress.

Even now he couldn't shake the feeling that something had happened. It made him sick.

A knock on his door. "Matthew?"

He groaned.

Francis swiped the keycard, entering the room, and sitting on the bed. "Matthew, are you feeling well?"

"No." The blond said bluntly.

"Is it Arthur?"

"I don't know."

Matthew's wings moved, wrapping around himself. "Dad... I- I just feel like something's happened... _Something bad._ "

"To whom? Why?"

Matthew pulled his wings closer. "I don't know-" he sucks in a breath. "Since Alfred jumped out the window, I've felt weird- and now I feel like I'm going to throw up."

Francis slowly realizes what it is. "Maybe you have an attachment to Alfred..."

"What?" Matthew sat up, staring at him.

"Well, when I feel that something's happen, it normally involves Arthur- so maybe you think something has happened to Alfred." Francis paused. "But what is a different question."

"What do you mean, attachment?"

"All of us- we have this strange... Connection. But it depends. For example, I feel a connection to Arthur. If he's injured- I can tell something's happened to him. The same goes for you and Alfred."

"So it's not for just for one person?"

"No, but it is strong for your family. And stronger for your partner. If Arthur were to die..." Francis paused, looking away.

"But- um, in your case, you have a stronger connection to Alfred, as he's your brother."

"Is there a name for it?" Matthew asked, looking at him.

"I call it the Link. But other people have other names for it."

"So, what if Alfred were to die?"

Francis looked at Him. "I do not want to think of such things..."

Matthew sat up, stretching his wings out. "Francis. Tell me."

Francis shook his head.

"Dad. Please tell me."

Francis sighed.

"A normal human feels an unmeasurable amount of grief when the person they love the most dies. And us, the Link we have with that person..." Francis holds up his hands, fingers spread. "That Link, makes you so close-" he slowly laced his fingers together. "It's as if you are one, whole being when you are together. Your personalities and emotions are so closely entwined, that when one dies..." He clenched one hand into a fist. "It's like... You've lost everything. You've lost a big portion of your life and yourself. And you feel it the instance the other's heart has stopped beating. That's why we mate for life. We don't have to, it's just that our hearts and souls can't handle a loss like that. Some would rather die than lose their partner."

"Does it happen for Arthur?"

"Of course it does!"

Matthew tilted his head.

"Arthur has the same systems and bodily functions as us. He just doesn't have wings."

"So he has a Link too?"

Francis inhaled deeply. "Arthur has one of the strongest Links I have ever encountered."

"And what about you?"

"Well, you see, while Arthur has a strong Link, when I see two people together, I can see how strong their Link is."

"What does it look like?"

Francis paused. "It looks like a misty string. Sometimes it's different colors. For example, the Link between me and Arthur is a fiery, blood red. That is, when we are both happy. When Arthur's upset, I can see blue mixing with red."

"Why red?"

"Red is the color of passion, Matthew."

"Passion? Oh."

Francis nodded, "and you see, Arthur has been more blue because of all this. So I need to be the strong one about this. Because if I'm not, our family will fall apart, again."

Matthew didn't say anything.

"Francis, just- I feel that something's happened to him... My wings, my knee... They hurt."

Francis stopped. "Matthew... How much do they hurt?"

"A bit."

Francis stares at him intently, and then gets up. "Matthew, pack your things into a backpack. We need to leave, now."

 **-x-x-x-**

"How did you know my name?" Alfred asked, staring at Ivan, who gestured to his bag.

"Vallet." Ivan made him turn around, stretching out his wings.

Alfred groaned. "Why are you touching my wings?"

"I vould not have to if you had not try to fly off."

"Seriously, stop touching my wings."

"Does it bother you?"

"Yes, it does. You don't just touch another dude's wings unless you're like their parents or their partner."

Ivan scoffed, setting the roll of gauze and the anti-bacterial solution on the nightstand. "Okay, you heal self while I handle fire." He stood, walking to the door. "And do not try to run away. You can't fly. And it is very cold outside. . . "

Alfred grumbled in response, a rush of cold sweeping into the room, causing him to shiver. He he managed reached out and grabbed the gauze, barely within arms reach. He pulled it out, stretching it- it fell out of his hands and onto the floor. Alfred groaned, his wings fluttering weakly. He reached around, trying to wrap it around his right wing. When he managed to wrap the gauze around a part of his wing, it either slipped off or served little use where he wrapped it.

Well, he had to keep trying.

The scene that Ivan walked back in on Alfred, lower half laying on the bed, and half sprawled on the wood floor, gauze strung out at random places, and the smaller avian man still.

Ivan chuckled, smiling. "I suppose you successfully reapplied bandages?"

"Shut the fuck up."

"No need to be so rude..." Ivan put the wood by the fireplace, and walked toward Alfred. "Can you stand?"

Alfred shook his head.

"Ah. One of the bullets did hit knee... Might've broken it. Or bruised your kneecap, dinking of angle and force of impact... And I will have to take out the bullet..."

Alfred groaned again. "You think so?"

Ivan nods. "Well, you cannot fly. You can attempt to walk. . ."

"Attempt?! I- I can do it!" Alfred turns, placing his feet firmly on the floor. _I can do it._

Alfred forced himself to stand, his legs wobbling. His wings spread out to stabilize himself, the gauze once again falling off. "Why does it keep falling off?!" Alfred yells out, falling, and flaps one of his wings, falling back on the bed and on wings. He groans, rolling onto his stomach. Ivan sits down beside him, taking off the gauze and wrapping it around his hand for storage. "First of all, you put on wrong. Second, you may have wasted half a roll. Third, I _do_ need to put this on you Alfred."

Alfred shook his head. "But it restrains my wings."

"Alfred, a bullet went through your right wing, it is almost broken, and needs stitches. Your wing _has_ to be restrained." The Russian says, making Alfred's wing fold.

"You're shitting me." The blond said, turning and staring at him.

"No, Alfred. I am not 'shitting you' as you say. And if you do not let your vings heal, I may have to remove them."

"What?! I- No-" Alfred sat up, "Take me to a vet- a doctor- something- I don't want my wings cut off!" Alfred releases a huff of breath, Ivan forcing him back down on his stomach.

"You cannot go to a vet as vet would freak out at your vings. Now, lay still. Or I will force you to be still."

Alfred could tell a genuine threat when he heard one, and laid still, making uncomfortable noises as Ivan touched his wings, and were folded and various areas disinfected and wrapped in gauze.

"I hate you."

"How very rude! You barely know me, Alfred."

The American sits up, placing his feet by the bed and hunching over for his wings. He pulls up his pants leg, letting Ivan readjust the bandages and reapplying the gauze.

Alfred growls, looking at him.

"Would you be more comfortable somewhere else?" The Russian asked, helping Alfred stand.

"Yeah- over there." He said, gesturing to the pillows.

"I like the pillows. They're soft." Ivan said, helping Alfred move. "They are also good because I do not have to deal with my back." He said, helping Alfred down and putting another log in the fire.

Ivan crosses his legs, hunching over and resting his face in his palm and his elbow on his knee. "Tell me about yourself."

"Why should I?" Alfred said, laying on his side, reaching behind him and stroking his wings.

"I am the ooner of this little cabin, Alfred. I could just throw you out in the cold Russian vinter and leave you to die~"

Alfred sat up quickly and hissed, falling back on his stomach. He laughed fakely, looking at him. "You- you won't really do that right?"

"Depends."

 _Great. I'm injured and this guy's nuts._

"Tell me about yourself."

"Well..." Alfred took in a breath. "My name's Alfred F. Jones. But to my family and the rest of the world, I'm Alfred F. Kirkland."

"Vhat's the F stand for?"

"Franklin."

Ivan paused, staring at the other, unsure how to go about digging into the others past. "Where are you from?"

"Born in America. Raised in England. Not as cool of a country as they think it is." He said absentmindedly, looking at his nails.

"That man that shot you- it's my fault." Ivan suddenly said, sitting back.

Alfred shot up. "Excuse me?"

"He is after me. Vhich is vhy I am in the middle of novhere, and vhy you got shot. He probably thought you vere me."

Alfred felt very confused. "Why are- What?"

Another log went in the fire, fully illuminating the room now. "Because," something extended from Ivan's back, the tip almost touching the other side of the cabin. "I have the largest wings known to man. Longer than small planes."

Alfred felt his jaw drop.

"My point is, Alfred. You must be more alert. Your wings vere perfectly healthy, and now- look at them."

Alfred shook his head. "They'll be okay- right?"

"Of course they will be be! I've met plenty with far vorse injuries."

Alfred sighed. "So, what kind of wings are yours?"

"Eurasaian Eagle owl. Yours seem to be a Bald Eagle. Have you thought to work on putting blades on your wings?"

"Blades?"

"I've worked on turning my wings into weapons."

Alfred blinks, staring at him. "That sounds... That sounds pretty rad man!"

Ivan chuckled. "Alfred... One oder thing." The Russian started. "Do you know vhy people are after us?"

"No..." Alfred replied, watching Ivan sit back down.

"For us, Alfred. Government scientists want to study us, poachers want us for our wings- circus' would give anything to make a quick dollar or make you a part of their freak show..."

Alfred was stunned, and then gulped. "Okay, now I have one other question..."

"Da?"

"Where are we?"

"Are you that delirious?"

Alfred shrugged.

"You have map, da?"

"Yeah- it's in my bag."

Ivan digs through his bag, taking out a map of Europe. He lays it flat between them, then points to a spot near the east coast of Russia. "We, are here," he pointed to a spot a few inches from the coast. "Near the Kamchatka peninsula. And when you go to the coast- you get the coast of Kamchatka. It's really pretty. Lots of nature, and it has to highest population of bears in the world. I should take you there."

"You're going to leave here?"

"Well of course- I can't stay in the same place forever. I move around a lot. Tell you vhat- soon as you can fly again, we go to Kamchatka."

"I don't see why. They're just bears."

"No, Alfred. They are so much more then that. And after that, we go to Alaska."

"You sound like we're friends."

Ivan tilted his head. "Well, you don't have any plans on where to go, do you? You're... On the run, as they say, da?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Then we should be on the run together!" He stuck out his hand. "What do you say?"

Alfred knew he was right. And he definitely wasn't going back home. He grabbed Ivan's hand, shaking it.

"I say, _let's do it._ "

* * *

 **A/N:** so, Ivan and Alfred are on the run! And the family is sorting things out, and we got some background on Ivan!

Please review this! I was really surprised that I got so many follows on this...


	3. Familiarization

**A/N:** Yay! An update! This story is slowly being worked on, along with Hetalia Headcanons. I don't do regular updates because I can't keep with them and have other stuff I have to do. I am still looking for a beta, and I need one dearly. I tried to run this by a few people but didn't get much back. So eh. I need second opinions before I publish them. Also I apologize for France. I have no idea how to go about his personality or his accent. So...

* * *

"Alfred, dey have to come out." Ivan told him, medical supplies sorted out next to him on the floor. The Russian made him lay on a pillow, a black bed sheet under him, so as not to stain the floors, which Alfred didn't understand- there were already scuffs and scratches scattered throughout the cabin- so why would it be a problem to let the floors get stained again?

"Can't you at least give me pain meds?" Alfred asked, considering asking the guy to just knock him out instead.

"I told you, I don't have any."

Alfred groaned, Ivan stretching out one of his still-injured wings, sore. His pant's leg on his injured knee pulled up. Ivan handed Alfred a rag, getting stitches and gauze ready, along with other medical supplies.

"What's this for?"

"For vhen you start screaming."

"Wait what?" Alfred said, looking up at him.

"I will have to pull it out- you are going to scream. And screaming gives away location." Ivan responded, unwrapping bandages on his knee.

"I fucking hate you."

"You said that before."

"And I'm saying it again." Alfred remarked, hissing as the bullet hole was cleaned with peroxide. He bit into the cloth, trying not to move. Ivan looked into the wound with a flashlight, seeing the bullet. "Well, it is in there."

"No shit."

Ivan chuckled, cracking his knuckles, and got a pair of tweezers. He cleaned off the tweezers, and then dug in for the bullet.

Alfred screamed into the cloth, grabbing his own hair in an effort not to kick him.

When Ivan got the bullet out, the blond was crying and had the cloth tight between his teeth. The Russian stitched up the wound, then bandaged it and immobilized his knee. He sat back, taking off his gloves and disposing of them.

"Arf yu dune?" Alfred said, muffled by the cloth.

"No, I clean and rebandage vings now."

Alfred groaned.

 **-x-x-x-**

 _"Arthur... How could you do this?_ _ **Why**_ _would you do this?"_

 _The boy was sitting sideways in a dining chair, various medical supplies resting on the table, Scott and William hunched over in front of him._

 _Arthur bawled, his head in his hands as Patrick poured peroxide over his back. The boy wailed, screaming out as the peroxide bubbled and sizzled against his skin. "Because-" He blubbered between sobs, using great intakes of breath between them. "Because- I wanted to-"_

 _The boy felt so undignified and ashamed. He wanted his wings off- he wanted to be like the other people. He wanted to be normal. Patrick wiped his back gently with a cloth, Arthur sucking in snot protruding from his nose, drool escaping his mouth from his sobbing. William bent down and wiped his face with a paper towel._

 _"But_ _ **why,**_ _Arthur?" Scott persisted._

 _The boy whined, William moving to hold his wrists together and pinning him in his sitting position. He cried out and screamed as Patrick started stitching his back, then wrapped bandage around his torso, his brothers telling him it would alright and it would be over soon._

 _It was agonizing. Arthur could feel his skin being pulled and woven into- the needle running in and out of his skin, tightening it._

 _Arthur sucked in another breath, wiping tears away. "I want to be like the other people- we're not normal Scott..."_

 _"You're not making sense..." Scott replied._

 _"Look at us... I can't even walk down the street without being stared at. People notice the hump and how I walk hunched over... And then how I never take off my jacket inside... And that I never lay on my back- I don't take off my shirt at the pool- or in the shower-"_

 _He took in a large sob._

 _"Listen- Arthur-" He looks up, William putting his hand on his shoulder. "You could've died- we didn't think you would do this... And you scared us-"_

 _"What about me though?!"_

 _"Arthur-" Patrick had moved in front of him now, sitting down in front of him._

 _"But what about how I feel?"_

 _"Arthur, you can be a normal human being now. . . But you've isolated yourself from us... And your family- and the man you love the most. You can be normal, but you can't be like us."_

 _ **"What?"**_

 _"Shame..."_

 _"What are you-" Arthur looked over at Scott._

 _His jaw dropped, and started screaming._

 _Scott was standing now, his skin turned unnaturally pale. He staggered, towering over Arthur, his wing spreading and drooping, dropping the the floor, and feathers dropping to the floor._

 _His eyes grey and lifeless._

 _"_ _ **Shame...**_ _"_

 _Patrick and William now stood up, all three approaching him._

 _"What- Stop-" Arthur found himself unable to move, his brothers grabbing and groping his arms, and clawing his back. He screamed, crying out._

 _"Shame!"_

 _"Why are you doing this?!" Arthur struggled wildly, thrashing._

 _"SHAME!_ _ **SHAME! SHAME!**_ _"_

 _"Stop it!" Arthur twisted and screamed, a knife suddenly appearing in his hand, swinging blindly, and hearing William cry out. The boy looked at his brother in fear, the knife clanging to the floor and his brothers dropping him, backing away._

 _William was hunched over, his wings held close to his body, his head in his hands, blood dripping on the floor._

 _"William? William I'm sorry I-"_

 _Arthur stood up, finding himself to be the same height as his brothers, his hands covered in blood. His hands started shaking, and his gaze travelled upwards to look at his brother, blood seeping from his face and dripping onto the floor. "William-"_

 _"_ _ **Dad**_ _?"_

 _Arthur froze in place._

 _Alfred now looked up at him, a slash across his face blood running out freely, palms covered in blood, his left wing at an odd angle._

 _"Oh my god- Alfred-" Arthur grabbed a rag, stepping towards his son. "Alfred I-" Francis slid in front of him, glorious white wings spreading out behind him, shielding his son. Arthur glanced to his left, Matthew holding a chair between him and Arthur defensively, slowly moving behind Francis._

 _"Francis- please I-" Arthur started, his throat starting to burn and his face becoming hot._

 _Francis hissed at him, straightening up, feathers unfurled. Arthur stepped away- scared, knowing full well Francis would mail him in this state. "Francis- calm down please-"_

 _"Calm down? Calm down?! Arthur- you stay away from those boys or **I** __**will break your spine**_ _."_

 _Arthur found himself clutching another knife tightly in his hand, tip pointed at his partner. He could hear Alfred crying now- holding his face in his hands. "Francis listen- Alfred needs help-" he took a step forward, Francis screeching at him._

 _"Away!"_

 _Matthew was trying to help Alfred now, his efforts in vain._

 _"Please listen to me!"_

 _"Listen to you- how can I? I can't even look at you- You want to be a normal human don't you?! You want all of us to be normal! What, are you ashamed of us? Of your family? Of your brothers? Of_ _ **me**_ _?"_

 _"No- No- Francis that's not it-"_

 _"Then what is it?!" Francis was holding a blade in side hand now- ready to pounce._

 _"I- I just-" Arthur deflated, tears falling freely now. "Please I-" He took another step, Francis screeching and leaping at him._

 _Arthur was pinned down, knife at his throat._

 _"You think it's all about you, don't you? You and how presentable we need to be." Francis growled._

 _"You are a disgrace Arthur Kirkland. A stranger to normal people, and an outcast to your own." The blade pressed against his jugular. "And most of all Arthur..."_

 _The blade started to moving._

 _"I can never forgive you."_

Arthur shot up in bed, screaming, causing Francis to wake up. The Englishman found his body covered in sweat, the sheets damp and his clothes wet. His screaming turned into hyperventilating, Francis wrapping his arms around him, letting him cry into the Frenchman's chest. His gasping turned into sobbing and wailing, tears wetting the others shirt.

Arthur was disgusted with himself- a smelly and damp mess, wailing and sobbing.

Arthur hated crying- he hated crying in front of others. Crying over emotions. It showed weakness. It showed that he had an opening, something someone could use against him- harm him.

He especially hated crying in front of Francis. With how much they bickered between themselves- letting himself show weakness in front of him felt the most humiliating of all.

Francis was speaking to him in soothing and tired French, trying to calm him down.

"Francis- Francis I'm so sorry- It's all my fault."

 _Weak._

Francis cooed, white wings flapping, and rubbing Arthur's back in comfort. His cries had turned into sobbing, Francis pushed him away to look at his face, wiping away tears.

"Arthur, what happened?"

Said blond started sobbing again, telling him everything.

"Maybe it's best if we stay for a while- least until Matthew knows he's safe with us."

"No- no- we need to find Alfred..."

"Arthur- look at yourself- I'm just as worried about Alfred as you are- but we'll have no luck finding him if you're emotionally unstable, Matthew can't trust you- and a wild goose chase reaps no rewards, non?"

Arthur could feel fingers pointing at him.

 _"Your fault."_

 _"You caused this!"_

 ** _"SHAME!"_**

Arthur broke into tears again, Francis doing what he could to comfort him. "I'm sorry- you- you're right. You're right- soon as we have a lead we'll leave." He wanted to punch himself for saying that. "If Alfred gets hurt bad, we'll feel it- he's okay."

 **-x-x-x-**

"I AM GOING TO FUCKING KICK YOUR ASS IF YOU SAY THAT AGAIN."

"How can you kick my ass if you can barely stand?"

"I WILL FIND A FUCKING WAY."

"So vulgar..." Ivan taunted, standing over him and his crumple form on the floor.

Alfred, determined to start walking again, struggled to get up. And after asking him 30 times, he convinced Ivan to 'coach' him. (More to make sure he didn't slack off.)

Alfred's knee was still healing- he believed he didn't have time to let it fully recover, wanting to leave the creepy cabin in the middle of the woods and the forest with a avian hunter and psycho dogs as soon as possible.

Making Ivan take up the task to get Alfred back on his feet- literally.

"Come on malyutka! Get up! Get up!"

 _Malyutka_. Ivan had started calling him that to insult him. It meant little one, the first thing Ivan went for to insult him was their height difference. And it was oddly affectionate. Which only pissed off Alfred more.

Ivan spit on the floor in front of him. "You fat pig-"

Alfred snarled, pushing himself up.

"Get up, get up!" The Russian roared, "Or are you so weak that you cannot even _stand_?"

Every insulting and humiliating thing that Ivan called him made Alfred want to get up and run- prove him wrong. Prove to him that he was strong and agile. He didn't understand _why_ he felt like he needed to- but a fire in him screeched for him to get up and kick Ivan in the face.

But he couldn't.

"You vant to be hero, don't you?!" Ivan screamed, getting in his face.

"Yes-!" Alfred screamed back.

"Then get up! Vhat kind of hero are you if you cannot stand?!"

Alfred growled, pushing himself up on his elbows.

"A real hero must struggle!" Ivan yelled, stomping his foot. "Come on, get up! Get up you weak and spineless boy! _Get up_!" Alfred snarled at him again, his teeth baring. Ivan traced an X across his face. "Get up. Get up and punch me."

 _A real hero must struggle._

Alfred pushed himself up on his knees, slowly getting up, legs shaking and wobbling back and forth. He stabilized himself on a stool, leg still wobbling, Ivan standing a few feet away from him. Determined to punch him, Alfred started running, tripping over his own feet and falling forward, Ivan catching him before he fell on his face and started laughing at him. "God I hate you."

"I am aware of this."

Ivan walks him go back to the stool, making him stand without leaning on anything. When he was able to stand, Ivan made him walk a few feet. Only to trip and collapse in his arms _again_.

They repeat this, until Alfred could walk without collapsing into Ivan's arms- which- upon giving the Russian a bruised cheek, he had never so satisfied to harm anyone before.

Ivan made him sit back down on the bed, the sun going down. "I need to go out- I am running low on wood and food. I will be back, do not break anything." The Russian turned away, walking to the door, and unlocked the several deadbolts around the door. He paused, hand on the doorknob. "If I am not back by sunrise, grab vhatever supplies you can- burn cabin to ground and run." This freaked Alfred out a bit but he nodded anyway. Ivan then tasked him with keeping the fire lit and protecting the cabin, while the Russian went out for food. He had been given a walkie talkie if he was in danger.

 _"You think I can't defend myself?"_

 _"Alfred, you can barely walk without tripping."_

Nevertheless, Ivan was right, and Alfred wanted to punch him because he was right. But Alfred knew it wasn't wise to bite the hand that fed him. Which also pissed him off. He hated being helpless- he couldn't fly, and could barely walk. And this fucker was babying him.

And he didn't even _know_ this Fucker.

Their days repeated like this- Alfred got the hang of walking and Ivan left him alone.

Alfred had tested the Walkie Talkie, pressing call on it, and Ivan seemed to be there in a flash. This was strange to Alfred. So strange. Someone who seemed to be constantly looking out for him- but _why?_

But as soon as he was healed, this guy was going to be his partner- exploring together.

He might as well learn about his new friend.

Alfred's gaze went to the dresser- it seemed to be the only storage thing in here, other than the nightstand by the bed, so there had to be things in there. He limped his way over to it, briefly observing the top of it. A rag, a home-made first aid kit, and three sunflowers in a vase, which shook as he opened the top drawer on the left side. It seemed to be empty, and Alfred dug around in the drawer, finding a false bottom and setting it on the floor.

The first thing he saw was a large folder held together with tape and a rubber band. Alfred felt confused as he opened the folder. The first few papers were childish drawings, some done in colors, others in a brown substance that Alfred didn't recognize. He could make out three smiling faces, captioned with a language in unknown symbols. Alfred flipped through the many drawings, some happy and the three faces reoccurring, each entry seeming to be dated and captioned with strange symbols. Only one entry showed the faces with wings, but were crossed out in the next entry. Eventually three more faces joined, the drawings becoming better quality and the symbols less confused and scratchy. The last few pages were blank. Alfred dug into the drawer again, finding pencils and a box of well worn colored pencils. He set them on top of the dresser. He stopped at his next finding. A photo of Ivan and few others. Two girls, one who wanted to kill the camera, one with rather large boobs, and three men who seemed to be terrified but forcing themselves to smile.

A blue X was drawn across both of the girls mid-sections, and a red X across a man with glasses.

He flipped it around, seeing more of the strange symbols, what looked like a few names, three of them crossed out.

The next thing he found was a single blue feather, wrapped in cloth.

He moved to the next drawer, finding more paper and writing utensils, as well a few books. (Again, written in an alien language.)

Next drawer, another false bottom and Alfred finding knives, rope, and a gun with a silencer.

Next drawer, sewing materials and more bandages a few pill bottles and- pain killers!

"So he _did_ have them!" Cursing Ivan under his breath, he set the painkillers to the side and put back in the false bottom, moving on. The remainder of the drawers containing a few miscellaneous objects and clothes.

As he dug through Ivan's things, he failed to notice the door opening.

 **-x-x-x-**

With Arthur asleep, Francis snuck out of the room. He made two calls, wanting to meet with his friends and discuss with them and Matthew about where to look first.

Matthew and Francis sat across the bed from each other, sitting in an awkward and still silence.

His son broke it first.

"How do you hide your wings?"

Francis stiffened. "What do you mean?"

"Your wings are nearly fourteen feet long- how are you hiding them? It looks like you don't have any."

"Well- most of us have these… Things in our backs. They are slits of skin close to our spines, and my wings fold themselves in there. It's hard- and honestly takes a while to get used to. They don't develop for a long time- some don't develop them at all. And even then they are difficult to use. When one is enraged, your wings, out of instinct, will fly out, making you appear bigger and more lethal. So emotions come into play. And baggy or loose shirts are recommended- or sweaters, just in case…"

"Do I get them?"

"There is a possibility- I've noticed the younger ones tend to have them. If you were to have them then Alfred probably would-"

Rapid knocking on the door interrupted them, causing both to jump. Francis went to the door, greeted by a familiar face. "Ah- Antonio- where is Gilbert?"

"Me amigo! How nice to see you! Gilbert wouldn't come- he said he was watching over things and he needed to keep an eye on his brother." The Spaniard said, hiding his disappointment as he walked in, sitting on a chair and smiling at Matthew. "Any leads on Alfred?"

Francis shook his head.

"Ah- I have asked around- No one's said anything about a UFO, or any extremely large birds. The sisters didn't report anything- Romano had nothing. I don't think anyone's seen him or where he went- which is odd- most of us can feel things like that."

Francis nodded this time, sitting down in a chair across from Antonio. "It doesn't make sense either- Alfred isn't the best flyer- so he couldn't have gotten that far."

"Where would he go, though?" Antonio asked, resting his elbows on the table.

"America. He's heading for America."

Both men turned to look at Matthew, who moved to the end of the bed, facing the two.

"Why do you think that?"

"Alfred wants to go back to his birthplace- I would. So it only makes sense he wants to do that. For all we know, he could be trying to find his original life… His original home and such. From what I know about my brother- he likes exploring. And he wants to go to America."

"Your boy has a good point, Francis."

The Frenchmen nodded again. "Oui. So- if he is trying to head for America then we know he didn't try to fly over the Atlantic. He's not that dumb- Matthew and I can tell he's not dead- just hurt maybe. So we know he went East- Matthew, can you get my map out of my backpack?"

The Canadian nodded, going and fetching the map, and laying it out on the table, and gave Francis a pen.

His father drew a circle around Spain, and an arrow indicating East. "So the closest way would to be to go through- no…."

"What?"

"What if Alfred got lost?"

 **-x-x-x-**

When Ivan had walked inside the cabin, firewood in one arm and two dead rabbits in the other, seeing Alfred digging through his drawers, a folder and a book set on the top misshapenly.

Ivan cleared his throat, speaking in the clearest English he could. Alfred jumped.

"What, are you doing?"

Alfred whipped around, a wing hitting the dresser and shaking it. He yelped from the pain, falling to the floor from his weak knee, as the vase of sunflowers tipped over. Ivan gasped, dropping everything and leaping across the room, grabbing the folder and the photo as the sunflowers and water spilled over the top of the dresser. The vase rolled off the dresser smashing into pieces on the floor. He set the folder on the bed, along with the photo. Ivan took in a breath, his gaze going to the other.

" _Alfred_."

Said blond felt terror strike into his veins. He crawled away from Ivan, laughing nervously, trying to get back up. "Uh- Dude- uh-"

"Why... were, you digging, in my possessions?"

Alfred felt hair rise on the back of his neck. He had noticed that Ivan had trouble sounding his W's. And now, hearing him struggling and taking his time to speak clearly, he knew Ivan was mad. "Well- um- I- I was looking for painkillers- uh." Ivan now towered over him, intense violet eyes focused on his every move. Violent eyes glaring at him, staring him down, daring for him to make a wrong move, daring him to lie.

Alfred had noticed that Ivan was rarely focused on one thing- thinking over things a lot and sitting in silent with his thought. He had never seen Ivan give something his undivided attention.

And now Alfred had it.

He was silent, half-panicked and realizing he was backed against the dresser, cornered.

"Alfred."

The Russian's wings had extended now, creating a wall and trapping Alfred in place.

"Well- um-" Alfred sucked in a breath, standing up and meeting his gaze, narrowing his eyes, trying to size up the other man.

"Why were you digging in my possessions?" Ivan asked again, agitated, his feathers ruffling, and making himself seem larger, towering over the other. "Tell me why or I will throw you outside and leave you to die."

Alfred could tell that was a genuine threat.

"Well- look- Yes, I was looking for painkillers, and I wanted to make sure you weren't some crazy Ax-Murderer either."

The man seemed to calm down now, his wings retracting and a smile Alfred had yet to grow accustomed to. His smile could be described as, _I am going to murder you in your sleep you little shit but look at my sweet innocent face.  
_ "Vell Alfred, if I did plan on killing you, I would have done it already."

Alfred felt a chill go down his spine, and straightened himself up, Ivan walking to the dresser and examining his findings.

"So, what is all this stuff?"

Ivan put the journal back in without a word, taking a rag and wiping away the water, then picking up the photograph. "This is my family." He said, showing the photo to Alfred briefly.

"Why the X's?"

"Blue means I do not know where they are, red means- well, I'm sure you can deduce that."

 _Red means dead._ Alfred realized, watching Ivan put the photo in the journal, then putting back in the false bottom and then the pencils and colored pencils.

Alfred started asking a lot of questions as Ivan picked up his mess, wanting to know more about him. "You said you didn't have any painkillers- so what are these?" He said, holding up the bottle of pills.  
"Depends. I few medications. For example- the one in your hand is cyanide." Ivan said, folding up the clothes Alfred had thrown about.

He dropped the bottle- "What- Why do you have poison here?!"

"You never know when you need it." Ivan shrugged.

Alfred paused, glancing at the photo. "Who are they?"

Ivan growled, finding his broom and handing it to Alfred. "Clean up vase. I rather liked that one."

Alfred looked at him, then sweeping up the glass shards, mumbling. "You didn't answer my question." He said, throwing the shards in the trash and leaning the broom against the wall.

"Vhy should I tell you my vhole life story?" The Russian countered, recollecting the fire wood and animals he had dropped, putting the wood by the fire and wrapping the rabbits in cloth, and then sitting on the pillows.

"Because I'm still not sure if you're an ax murderer or not. Besides, you've already told me some stuff-" Alfred sat across from him, legs crossed.

"Maybe later- I ask now." Ivan paused, in thought, his eyes studying Alfred.

"How did you end up in woods?"

Alfred shifts, staring back at him. "Pass."

Ivan straightens up. "Favorite color."

"Red, white, and blue, but I like brown and Magenta too."

Ivan tilted his head. "Why?"

"Blue reminds me of the sea and the sky- red is blood, white is like, hope and purity. Brown is calming and a nice color. And Magenta- it's vivid and lively- but still has this weird dark undertone. You?"

"I like red and yellow. Yellow reminds me of the sun and sunflowers, and how happy and alive they are. Red is deep and has many meanings."

Alfred nodded, making himself more comfortable. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-three."

"Nineteen- shit you're old."

Ivan scoffed. "Fine then- hobbies."

"Well, I like archeology. And super heroes. And I like birds of prey- especially Eagles. You?"

"I like art, knitting, and some music. Hunting, too."

"Is that it?"

Ivan shrugged. "Not much to do around here..."

"Boring and old." Alfred mumbled, something swinging around and hitting him, knocking him over and onto the pillows. "What the- did you just hit me?!"

"With ving, yes."

Alfred looked at him for a moment, dumbfounded, then sat back up. "Where'd you learn English?"

"I taught myself. It's very difficult, help pass time too- I thought vas needed, since spoken by so many."

"Do you use it much?"

"No, but I have to practice, or I vill forget."

"Why can't you speak very clearly?"

Ivan stared at him now, a hard look in his eyes, as if he'd been challenged. "Yazyki-"

The rest of the words couldn't register in Alfred's mind. They were strange and alien, sounding similar to garbled speech. Alfred raised an eyebrow.

"Languages very different. I am Russian, so I have Russian accent- language lacks articles and double-u sounds." Ivan told him, amused by his confusion. "And compared to other languages, English is very confusing."

"No it's not!" Alfred said, sitting up and glaring. "Tell me how it's confusing-"

"There, their, they're- do, due- then you have words that are spelled same but said different and mean different- like wound and wound, wind and wind. And then you Americans spell things differently-" He paused. "Like favour, or favourite. Why do you do that?"

"Because fuck the British." Alfred said bluntly, sitting back.

Ivan snorted, then regaining his calmness. "But weren't you raised in England?"

"No- I was born in America. I lived there when I was little."

"How did you end up in Europe then?"

" _Vhy_ should I tell you my life story?" Alfred retorted, folding his arms and smirking- using Ivan's words against him and imitating his accent.

Ivan rolled his eyes, then sucked in a breath, looking at Alfred. "But do tell me, vhy vere you in woods? I don't see many people around here- besides the hunter and the occasional hiker or lost soul..."

"Lost soul?" Alfred asked, tilting his head.

"Someone who lost in woods. Some of them are very strange dough..." Ivan tapped on his chin. "They wear tin foil hats and bring lots of cameras and sensors. And set up lots of traps and things- the hunter does not like them. Says they make too much noise."

Alfred squinted, leaning in on his elbows, then sat up. "Hold on- dude."

"Hm?" Ivan raised an eyebrow.

"Monster Hunters. You're talking about Monster Hunters."

"Vhat?"

"They're people who look for monsters. Like Bigfoot or the Yeti."

The Russian shook his head, then cleared his throat. "You still haven't answered my question."

Alfred went silent for a moment, turning to look at the fire.

"Vhy did you come into my woods?" Ivan repeated.

He sucked in a breath. "I. . . I ran- flew away from home." Alfred told him, still looking at the fire.

"Vhy?"

He sighed. "I was scared."

"Of?"

"My Dad."

"Vhy?"

Alfred didn't say anything- staring at the fire, his wings suddenly feeling heavier. He looked over his shoulder, observing his bandaged wings, the little scruffs on them, the patches, the new scratches and bruises. His eyes trailed down, a ragged and dark scar, a line of flesh that stuck out of his wing.

"My dad tried to cut off my wings."

Ivan sat up, raising an eyebrow. "Your wings…?"

"Yea- Dad told me that they would be a hinderance on my life- I couldn't be a normal person with them. He chased me into the bathroom and held me down- and he started sawing away at them- My stepdad barges in, throws him off me, they fight, he sleeps on the couch that night, and the next thing I know me and my brother are packing up our bags and moving out of the house. I was maybe- Thirteen? Or so? It was right before school was going to start back up- and we had gotten back from my uncle's home in Scotland. No- I probably would've been twelve."

"Who is your father?" Ivan suddenly asked.

"Arthur Kirkland?"

"Oh…" Ivan said, leaning over.

"What?" Alfred shot back, defensive.

Ivan stared at him, almost right through him. "I have heard of Arthur Kirkland. . . Mostly on the grapevine. . ."

Alfred sat up as well, eyes wide. "What do you know about my dad?"

"I believe the question is, what do _you_ know about your dad?" Ivan asked him, squinting.

"I know he lost his wings in an accident."

Ivan raised an eyebrow.

"Didn't tell me anything else- I know that he has a few brothers- I lost count of them-" Alfred paused. "He's an accountant, or something. Some really boring job. He used to work somewhere else, I think it had something to do with animals? But something happened and he quit. Why- do you know him?"

Ivan shook his head. "Not exactly- most of us know each other in one way or another. Some of us used to travel in Flocks- and were out to find others like themselves. I had a rather large flock- but we had to split up."

"What happened?"

"That… Is story for different day."

"Fine- whatever- what about my dad?"

Ivan paused, then took in a breath. "Arthur Kirkland is bane and outcast of our kind."


	4. notice

A/N:

argh, I really hate to do this- I really wanted to get out of the habit of rewriting or editing chapters after i have already published them, but well, too bad for me, I guess.

I just want to announce that I went back through and changed a few key things, so please go back and read!

\- Owlie out


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